Lady Madonna
by Terfle
Summary: Mac becomes enamoured of a certain Italian widow. Will her feelings be returned? Femslash. Smut/depression/self harm warning
1. Chapter 1

Mac strode through the streets whistling a merry tune, hat rakishly set on her auburn tresses. She was in a good mood today. A rare day off, a promised game of snooker with the ladies and enough money saved for whatever small luxury she wanted. Stopping off at a market stall, she browsed the produce for whatever took her fancy. The Italian restaurant opposite sold some of their produce there; fresh vegetables and olive oil and Mac was urged to test the goods. Slowly marching up and down the line, her eye was caught by something she liked the look of. Nestled in a paper lined bassinette were a vast quantity of mixed olives. She had a great taste for olives. Many a day a few of those savoury pods had livened up her cheese sandwiches. She asked for a small bag. While that was being dealt with, she looked across at the restaurant. Strano's. She doubted she could afford to eat there. Maybe for her birthday this year she'd save up and splash out.

Standing at the entrance was a tall handsome woman. With chestnut curls set in a heavy wave and wearing a black lace dress, she cut a statuesque figure. Mac couldn't help but stare at her. She had the face of a Madonna. Seeing the woman turn and spot her, Mac gave a discreet wink. The object of her observation froze, with a slight inclination of her head to suggest that she'd seen it. Handing over the cash with thanks, Mac tucked her purchase in her satchel and went left, around the corner to where she could lean against the wall and observe this beauty. There was a slightly forlorn look in her eyes as though she had seen grief that never truly left her. Mac watched her covertly from under her hat for a few seconds more and then started walking.

She walked straight past just as the woman in question dropped her box of cigarettes. Perfect. Mac stooped, seized it and swiftly brushed off the mud with her handkerchief she kept knotted around her satchel. Handing it over with a cheeky smile, she raised her hat to the now heavily blushing woman and strode on. She had been close enough to smell a soupçon of perfume, something elegant and oriental. She did love making women blush.

Concetta stared after the dapper female that had chivalrously given her more attention than any man had recently. She felt a fluttering in her heart that she couldn't quell and tried to chastise herself for such nonsense. She was a silly romantic. But there was a part of her that couldn't help it. She had enjoyed it.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a frosty autumn night and Mac couldn't wait to get to the houseboat she called home. She had been making much needed changes in her life. The houseboat was one of the best decisions, far away from prying eyes and the restrictions of her previous lodgings. Now she could bring people to a home, to host a select gathering and entertain lovers at leisure. Painted cream with an emerald green trim, the vessel was ridiculously named _'The Jolly Fishwife'_ and she relished the space and familiarity of it. She'd been renting it for a while now and having bought herself a bicycle, she felt more independent from the overwhelming grasp of the hospital. She loved her job and had worked harder than anyone to get to that point but she resented being trapped within the same parameters for such a long time. She felt stifled day in, day out and as selfish as it sounded, didn't want to be on call every minute of the day and night. Speeding along on the bike in the early morning was liberating. She clomped down the steps and drew the chain behind her, barricading herself from the outside world. She was in a funny mood tonight. Work was fine, snooker with the girls was fine, her current choice of whiskey was in good stock and wasn't going anywhere, she just felt discontented. What was wrong with her lately?

She went into the bedroom and undressed down to her shirt and trousers, brassiere unclipped and off. She wished she didn't have to wear one sometimes but it was unprofessional to work without being fully dressed. For all her liberal ways, Mac had grown up in the Victorian era and some things were hard to shake off. She always set her hair, not so much out of vanity but out of professional pride, she had to look presentable and somewhat approachable to appease the men at work. It contrasted nicely with her men's suits that she loved for their practicality and function. She'd adopted a habit of lipstick these last few years, enjoying the previously unknown tool to her to snare other likeminded women. There was something sensual about the way one painted the lips and she never lost the thrill of observing another woman layering on lipstick in her compact mirror, only for them to look up and notice her. That was Mac's cue to make eyes at her and hopefully she'd respond. That hadn't happened in quite a while and she missed it. Missed the fun of it whether she was being chased or did the chasing. Slumping down in her favourite chair and pouring herself a small measure of whiskey, she gazed into the distance and settled down for another restless night.


	3. Chapter 3

Concetta walked along in the dusk, trying not to think about how her days were all the same, since her husband had been murdered. She didn't like to think about it that way, but she was reminded of it, day in, day out. Having to be the pitied widow of the Italian world in this corner of the city made her want to scream and throw things at the walls. So many days she felt trapped, stifling in a black gabardine cage and all the while she felt like she was getting even more numb, waiting for something to spark up her life and warm her up again. She thought Detective Inspector Jack Robinson was the key. But his heart was stolen by another and she could never get him back. She still served him in the restaurant and he acted as he was before, having courteously wiped out what had gone before them when she had thrown herself at him and he had refused her. She accepted it with grace. But sometimes it was so hard. Her husband hadn't been a sensitive lover, but he had at least been a warm body to cling to, no matter how badly she had thought of him sometimes. Some nights she sobbed herself to sleep realising that she was unlikely to find another to spend the rest of her life with. She was a failure in the family and would always be reminded of it.

Absorbed in these thoughts, she stopped and looked over at the water. She could just jump in. Let the icy grip of the water wash her of her sins and take her away from all of this. How much worse could this life be? She had narrowly escaped marriage to a man she wanted nothing to do with but she knew it wouldn't be long until they tried to match her again.

She resumed her walk, still undecided if she wanted to plunge into the unforgiving depths, she was stopped in her tracks. A painful stumble over someone's bicycle did the trick.


	4. Chapter 4

Mac heard the rattle and shout and shot out of her chair to investigate. She realised she'd forgotten to put her bike away again. Stupid. It could have been stolen by now. She must remember to bring it in. She wished bikes would come with some sort of folding mechanism or something. It was such a hassle to keep hauling it up and down the steps. She ran up and opened the door. In the dark she could make out a tall figure struggling with swinging the bike back up against the boat. She was cursing in Italian. Mac didn't know much Italian, but she didn't need to, to guess what she was saying. For it was a she. On the taller side but most definitely a she. Mac could make out the curve of her body even in the dark. She walked over and helped her with the reluctant bike.

'Sorry, I forgot to bring to bring it in. Are you hurt?'

'No. thank you I am fine.'

She hastily turned to go but Mac could see that she was limping slightly. She almost stumbled and Mac was by her side in a flash.

'Let me take a look at that.'

'It is nothing' said the lady.

'I'm a doctor. Just want to check that you're ok.'

Mac lifted her up off her feet and held onto her arm. A gust of a familiar perfume brushed past her but she paid no attention. She carefully coaxed the lady over to the door and propped her on the edge so she could see who she was talking to. Warm light spilled out from the entrance and Mac could see who it was. Now the scent made sense. She saw it was the glorious lady from the Italian restaurant.

Who recognised her too. Most certainly she did. That blush told her so.

Now that was entirely flattering.


	5. Chapter 5

'Please, come in. I'll put some tea on. Or coffee?' She remembered that Italians liked coffee. The handsome lady hesitated and then smiled tentatively. She seemed on edge. Mac went back to get the bike and wheeled it down the steps. Over her shoulder she called for the lady to shut the door and follow. Before long they were sitting in the armchairs and sipping tiny cups of coffee. Both of them knew it was a bad idea this late at night but they did it anyway.

Mac introduced herself. Concetta felt a bit dizzy. This hard-edged woman was a doctor. She didn't know such things really existed. She'd heard of the women's hospital of course but never had to go there. She had the constitution of an ox.

Mac was a little bit thrilled to have such an exotic creature sitting in her living room. She admired the limpid brown eyes fringed with long lashes and the olive complexion of her visitor.

'Shall I take a look?' She gestured to the injured knee.

Concetta hesitated and set her cup down. She slowly reached down and drew her skirt up just a little higher. She had felt the sting but overlooked it. She had been in worst physical pain before. Her stocking was ripped and a small cut was dripping very slowly. Nothing terrible. Mac fetched some water and supplies. She propped the patient's leg up onto a stool and gently started rolling down the stocking. Her fingers were still slightly cold and Concetta gasped and jumped at the shock of it.

Mac apologised.

Concetta smiled and leaned back, never fully relaxed. She felt something else in those fingers. A gentle whisper of electricity that built up as they worked their steady way down her leg. She tensed up, unable to tolerate it silently for much longer. The doctor looked at her in concern.

'Am I hurting you?'

'No, not at all. I'm sorry, I'm just a bit jumpy.' She had learned this word recently and never had the context to use it before. It sounded strange in her heavy accent. Mac thought it to be charming. She cleaned and dressed the wound and rolled the stocking back up. Concetta leaned forward and quickly drew her skirt back down. Mac was quick to notice something almost hidden if it wasn't for the sleeve riding up just enough for her to see a narrow plaster on her left wrist. She saw already that her guest was right handed. It didn't take long to figure out what it might be. A wrist was a terrible thing to test a knife out on.


	6. Chapter 6

'I hope you haven't been sharpening the kitchen knives too harshly' she commented, deciding to be upfront.

Concetta froze, her cup suspended in mid-air. She thought nobody had noticed. She was ashamed of it and could tell no one, they'd pack her off to the asylum if they'd known what she occasionally did. It had never been so blatant, she normally inflicted her thighs with a shallow cut so nobody could discover how crazy she really was. It didn't happen often. Just once in a while, enough to make her feel something again. She hated it but it was the only way. She feared that she would fall into a depression so deep that one day she'd stop moving, shut her eyes and never wake up again. She was tired of controlling herself.

She threw the cup to the floor and it smashed, coffee staining the floor. Mac was startled to see the anger and pain in her eyes. Her shoulders were tense, hands clenched, her breathing was shallow and it looked like it hurt to speak. Tears formed in her eyes as she tried to control herself and found that she couldn't.

Mac sprang up to go to her. In a rush, her guest had apologised profusely, mixing Italian and English in confusion as the tears streamed down her face.

Concetta was so ashamed she could barely look at the kindly doctor. She had behaved abominably. She'd taken liberties and accepted a friendly gesture and had now ruined her residence and broken her possession.

Mac calmed her down, assuring her that the cup and the stain was nothing. She cleared up while Concetta sobbed, burying her face in the arm of the chair. She was ruining something else but the doctor didn't seem to mind. Mac apologised in turn.

'I didn't mean to upset you. But I see this more often than I'd like to and it concerns me that I see it with you.'

'You don't know me.'

'I don't but I feel like I know why you feel that way.'

'You don't.'

'The finer details, no. Would you tell me?'

She looked up to see her protector smile understandingly.

'Trust me, I'm a doctor. Patient confidentiality extends to outside the hospital.'

Concetta was desperate to escape her bonds. This stranger had seen right through to her heart and it was a horrible feeling. She felt far too exposed. She declined another cup of coffee. The carriage clock ticked. Mac settled into her chair and waited.

Concetta wouldn't make her wait the whole night for she had no intention of saying anything. She jumped up and quietly announced her departure. The doctor looked up at her but said nothing. She couldn't read her expression.

'Alright. I shall see you outside.'

'There's no need, thank you doctor' and the woman fled up the stairs and into the night like a frightened rabbit. Mac ran after her but lost her a yard away from the door. Internally cursing, she went back in and tidied up in a fit of nervous energy. She knew the woman wasn't going to tell her anything so soon so she let her go but once she had, she regretted it. She needed to get to the bottom of this.


	7. Chapter 7

Concetta tried to put the encounter out of her mind but found it impossible. All through the rest of the evening she was distracted. Her father said nothing but she was sure he had noticed. She escaped after dinner, pleading a headache. She was happy not to be working tonight. She worked almost every night as well as many lunchtimes and supervised service most mornings. Sunday was for church but she had been unfocused for a long time now. Like she was floating away over the congregation and while her body was automatically going through the motions, her mind was somewhere else. She was so good at it she didn't even realise it anymore. When she went to bed that night, she was still disturbed over her run in with the house boat dweller. A dreamless sleep claimed her but the calm she felt when she woke up was unprecedented. Her last thought had been of the doctor which felt somewhat comforting. She continued to think of her through the day, all through the week.

Several days later, she snapped. The feeling of helplessness was welling up inside her again and she found herself fidgeting, almost reaching for the knife. So soon, she scolded herself. This was becoming a dangerous habit. So to stop herself from doing it, she just walked out. It was her evening off, nobody had noticed. She didn't know where she was going but the purple lights attracted her. It wasn't surprising that she'd never heard of _The Blue Moon Club_ , nice Italian women didn't go out alone at night, especially not to clubs. She had always wanted to go but she never had a say in where she went. When her husband was alive, he would take her to safe places, to meet only their own people and to sit sedately and be shown off like a trophy. He never took her anywhere exciting. She had to be a good girl forever. A surge of anger propelled her towards the door. The doorman glanced at her and let her in, barely bothering to check if she was suitable clientele. She had some money on the side, sneakily squirrelled away and had never had an occasion to spend it in all her life. Now she could afford a drink by herself at the bar and damn the consequences. She was a grown woman who had never been let out on her own before. She felt like crying but sat down at the bar and ordered a cocktail. The hand that paid shook a little, but she did it. She was proficient at making them in the restaurant but never had the chance to taste them. She took a recommendation for a _Mary Pickford_ and finally got a taste of rum. It tasted like freedom, sunshine and something she hadn't had yet.

A touch on her shoulder sent her whirling round in confusion. Her statuesque form, though wholly unfashionable, attracted attention and accompanying leers a lot more than she'd ever wanted. She braced herself for unwanted interest. But looking at her was not a man but a pretty girl, a decade younger than her, she was sure.

'Mind if I buy you a drink?'

Concetta had never heard of such a thing.

'I have one already, thank you.'

'You'll need another soon.'

She stared at the girl in astonishment. Women buying other women drinks? Was this really what happened in bars? She'd seen men pursuing women at the restaurant with _'a drink for the lady on table 4'_ but actually going up to a stranger? She started to panic. The girl tilted her head with a smile, waiting for an answer.

'N…no thank you. I have no need for another drink' she finally stuttered. The girl shrugged, graciously inclined her head and sauntered off. She turned around to give her a wink before she disappeared into the vortex of the dancefloor beyond the door. Concetta's face flamed bright red. The bartender leaned forward, breasts straining out of her low-cut top.

'You won't have much of a good time here if you're shy.'

Concetta looked up, confused. She suddenly realised she felt rather more intimidated, the atmosphere suddenly felt jagged, threatening. She was sure it was only just her. The barmaid was being perfectly friendly. Nevertheless she made to get up off her seat, blushing under the frank gaze of the two ladies next to her. Their countenance was much more open and aggressive, something she'd only seen in men. She started to understand what kind of bar this was.

Mac saved her by walking in right at that minute. She'd never felt so happy to see a familiar face.

'Doctor!'

She practically ran to the woman. Mac, who had only intended on a quick drink and possibly the company of a pretty woman, was pleasantly surprised to see her.

'Concetta.' She greeted her cordially but reservedly. This was not a place for Italian widows. Perhaps she had got lost. Did she know what kind of a bar this was? Unless she did and she was there by design. Mac could hardly hope she was there to see her.

'Do you want a drink? There are some great cocktails here.'

'I've tried one.' Concetta had composed herself and was back to her usual manner, albeit with a heart that beat still too fast. But it was a mixture of that feeling of helplessness and the need to smash something that was overwhelming her right now and she feared that she would become agitated before long.

'It's lovely to see you. I need to get some air, I feel a bit hot.'

Mac regarded her with a watchful eye. She certainly seemed flushed and her hands were fidgeting with her black jacket. Black. It was always black. Apart from that string of red beads around her neck. Mac had seen her fair share of depressing garments but this made her sad. She didn't let her eyes linger too long but ushered her, not outside but further into the building, through a private room and to a balcony.


	8. Chapter 8

They clasped the rail of the balcony, breathing in the cold air. Concetta's head was spinning and she closed her eyes to steady herself. Mac took her chance to observe her. She didn't seem concerned that she had walked into a ladies bar. Perhaps Concetta wasn't as sheltered as she had first thought. Or maybe it was the source of her discomfort. Either way, she felt like she needed to know.

'What drink did you have?' She asked, keeping the tone light. She seemed a bit skittish and Mac was determined to keep her calm.

'A _Mary Pickford_.'

It was a cute drink. Wasn't to Mac's taste at all, she was more of a whiskey woman but gave her a pass as this seemed to be the first time she'd discovered cocktails.

'Do you want another?'

'No. Thank you.' Concetta was shivering. She seemed to have no desire to bolt, the cold had whipped the agitation out of her. Mac removed her coat and draped it around those statuesque shoulders. It didn't quite fit and Concetta didn't bother to try the arms. She knew they were too short. But she appreciated the gesture. Only her husband had done that and she suspected it was much to do with being proprietorial over her in public as much as it was for her own comfort. She turned and smiled to show her gratitude, a wan effort but nevertheless, a smile. Mac wanted to see more of it. The cold was too much. Escorting her inside, she sat her down on a comfortable chair in the corner to give her space and sat down with a whiskey. A mans drink, thought Concetta. She turned her head slightly and inhaled the scent coming from the collar of the coat. Warm and spicy, a hint of amber and vanilla. Mac noticed but said nothing. She wished she could take a picture. Dragging her mind away from Concetta's sad beauty, she held out the glass for a sip. Concetta looked at her with surprise. She had tasted whiskey before of course but not like this. She hesitated, looking at the smoky amber liquid. Without knowing what she was doing, she stretched out a hand and brought the rim of the glass to her lips. It burned her throat but warmed her body and she took another bitter sip, an electric thrill running through her. She gave it back, realising too late that she'd drank from the faint lip prints set along the glass. Mac's burgundy painted lips right on hers. Did that mean she'd made the first move? She blushed violently. Mac's keen blue eyes missed nothing.


	9. Chapter 9

'I didn't mean to be so personal' she apologised. Mac shook her head and reassured her otherwise. But she kept looking at her in a way she'd never seen a woman do before. Concetta didn't know how she felt about that. She wondered why she wasn't more terrified in a place like this, with a handsome woman in a suit looking at her as if she wanted to…a shiver ran through her as she thought of doing something she'd never considered in her life.

Her uneasiness showed as Mac sipped from the same spot, never leaving her gaze. She felt like she should back away and she put her hands on the arms of the chair as if to get up but never did. She didn't want to. She wanted to stay in this warm room with this woman with the hungry eyes. She was poised in-between what she should do and what she wanted to do.

Mac downed the glass and slowly leaned forward, their lips almost touching. Concetta couldn't move, she could feel the tingle between them as their breaths mingled. Both dropped their gaze lower. Concetta wore a muted warm shade that hinted to criminally underused lips. Lips like that were made for frequent kissing thought Mac. She inched closer and still the widow didn't move. If she was reading her right, she could steal a kiss. She could tell she was nervous but curious, that fine line between lust and uncertainty. The warmth shimmered between them on a taut string, as fine and tense as a tightrope. She didn't want to scare her away.

Concetta relaxed her grip on the chair, just enough to signal that she wanted to stay. Slowly Mac bridged the gap between them and gently touched lips. She felt their breath quicken together and very lightly kissed. Simply done, it was as effective as any ravishment in high passion. A feather light nuzzle was sometimes all that it took to draw that person to you. Most certainly Mac wanted to draw her in.


	10. Chapter 10

She had never had a night like this before. Nothing could have prepared her for that kiss. She'd never felt so electric before. All thoughts of her respectability, her honour had gone. She couldn't care tonight. They stayed there for a long time entwined in the chair, kissing hungrily. She had always wanted to be kissed like this but whenever she had pushed for more, her husband withdrew, grumbling about the fuss she was making and pulling her against the wall or to the bed so he could have it how he wanted. He hadn't wanted to waste time on slow sensual pleasures for very long. Every time it had started, she relaxed; craving more warmth, more softness, the touch of his fingers trailing over her skin but he got bored easily and dispensed with it very soon after. A lot of the time he didn't even bother. She resented his lack of consideration but was shut down every time she asked for more. So she withdrew entirely and kept herself detached from their coupling.

She'd never felt alight as she had now. Under the collar, under the cravat, the other woman's skin was as smooth as her own though her fingers were roughened from work. Concetta had some lotion for that. Made with olive oil, it restored even the coarsest of hands to perfection. She would give the doctor some. Her doctor, as she now thought of her.

Tonight she could kiss as she'd always wanted to. Everything that wasn't allowed, was possible in this place.

She was finally thawing out.


	11. Chapter 11

She didn't know how she coped in the days after that, floating along in a happy haze. If it was a dream it was the best one she'd ever had. She pushed aside the dread of anyone finding out. For now she was walking on air and had to work hard to conceal it. All her dreams were invaded by this woman, this brusque doctor with the gentle hands, her scent so similar to a man so she could convince herself that it was. It wasn't normal to be so obsessed with a woman this way but Concetta couldn't help herself. That night, where they had done nothing much else other than kiss and stroke skin, was more intimate than she'd ever been with anyone in her life. They took it slowly and when it was time to go, Mac walked her home, keeping close to the shadows in case anyone saw them. It didn't feel wrong. It should have done.

This experience had given her a sense of contentment, if only for a night. It wasn't long until she wanted more. Two days in fact. She ached for the touch of her handsome doctor. She wasn't to know that her handsome doctor was thinking of nothing else, desiring her back.

Mac sent her an invitation via the olive stall a couple of weeks later. A note, asking her when it would be convenient to pick up a delivery at a specified meeting point. Concetta passed it back via the nice man that Thursday evening at 7 pm would be best. She wasn't working on that evening. A tingle of anticipation stole up her spine and flooded her chest and belly at the thought. Sometimes she couldn't wait to finish her shift so she could go to bed and relive the sensations from that night. She could imagine the other woman lying in bed with her, the soft embrace and the tickling hair on her neck. She wasn't sure what else could happen between women but she was willing to find out. She had never wanted anything as immediately as she had wanted this.


	12. Chapter 12

Mac wasn't sure what should happen between them as Concetta shyly knocked on the door of her houseboat that Thursday night. She knew what she wanted to happen. Normally she would have treated it as a one-time thing but she couldn't stop thinking about her. The soft scented skin called to her, the curled hair a lot coarser than her own that Mac wanted to unpin to see how it looked and felt through her fingers. She must have been looking because Concetta unconsciously touched her unfashionable chignon, remembering the new clasp she had put in. She thought the other woman had noticed. When being told it was new, Mac confessed to not being able to tell the difference. Concetta laughed delightedly at this plain woman, so much like a man! She was used to that. Mac was in no way offended. She had little use for fripperies and had little patience for it in other women. She'd rarely involved herself with such a feminine type but she could hardly fail to notice how much this one was incredibly so. Dainty she was not, instead broad and statuesque with features that matched but Mac found it fascinating. She loved an unconventional beauty. She didn't understand why more men didn't rate that. Her best friend Phryne Fisher was stunning, but she was an obvious man magnet, as subtle as a brass dinner gong and just as loud sometimes.

Concetta was quiet, reserved and thoughtful. Her command of English was very good and Mac would have listened to a lecture of the most boring subject imaginable with her at the helm for nothing could have sullied the effect of that low sultry voice. Mac was a sucker for that kind of a voice. She tried not to stare too intently as Concetta described her family, the restaurant and Italian food, only wavering when mentioning her husband. It didn't take a genius to work out where the source of her anguish came from. The good news was that the cut on her wrist had healed. She could see a thin neat line under the cuff that was fading fast. She didn't think there had been any more cuts since. She dared herself to believe that she may have been the cause of it. She wanted to believe it.

'You must teach me how to cook.'

Concetta looked at the interested face beside her, eyes alight and tilted chin resting on fingers with a whiskey in hand. So natural, so flirtatious. How did she do that? Concetta felt clumsy in comparison. She'd felt clumsy all her life being surrounded by such effortless feminine wiles. She'd never been the kind of girl to giggle and flirt, she was always too serious. It took time to draw a smile from her and a few boys had dismissed her as too miserable to look at. She was deemed ugly by the women, passable by the men.

' _My Concetta', her father would boast 'is a wonderful cook, a good listener and sews impeccably. She may not be the prettiest, it is true but she is worth her value in salt. She is a keeper.'_

She had learned over the years to smile as needed but it felt hollow and mechanical. Few men had made her truly smile. Her husband had once upon a time, right at the beginning. He had coaxed a smile from her and it started from there.

' _There. Don't you look much sweeter. Bella.'_

 _He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she dared to look up, blushing slightly as his fingers briefly alighted on that delicate space._

 _He'd got her good and proper. She'd not had this kind of attention before and he knew it. Before long he had her in his grasp._

There were a couple of men here and there who had made her blush but they were only delivery men. Gianni was the only man she had ever met that she had truly wanted to be with but after her daring kiss test, she knew his heart belonged to another. She'd let him go with good grace but with a breaking heart. She stood little chance of marrying for love, she knew that but she couldn't help hoping, just a little bit.

All of a sudden she started talking, head down, voice faltering. About her courtship, the early days of her marriage, even her hopes for one Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. Mac kept quiet, watching her intently. She wasn't going to tell Concetta that she knew who he was. Her left hand unconsciously kneaded her left thigh as she spoke and at times there was a look of pain on her face. Mac took a good guess as to what lay under that black dress, a patch of skin scarred by that cruel knife. She stayed silent and observed so not to agitate.

When Concetta stopped, she realised that she'd said too much. She had only been asked for some cooking lessons. Mac didn't need a history of her life. She dared to look up and saw the other woman watching her with an expression she couldn't place. She felt embarrassed that she had shared so much. Gianni had never known even a quarter of these things about her. She didn't know how to change the subject. Mac did it for her.

'So would you teach me how to cook?'

Concetta looked at her, this angel in tweed and could have kissed her. Instead she fumbled an apology and said of course, she would be delighted to. Now that she felt more secure in Mac's presence, she was willing to share everything she had with her. She started off by sharing her domain. Mac wished to see her in her element and that she would grant her.


	13. Chapter 13

It wasn't even her birthday. But on Concetta's urging, Mac entered Stranos and found that it wasn't as expensive as she had thought. She wore her best cravat, the silk burgundy one with tiny flickering gold dragons on (a gift from Phryne via Lin Chung) as the hostess greeted her with a reserved manner and sparkling eyes to take her to her table. She recommended her a carafe of fragrant white wine and the osso buco. Mac had never had veal before and she took her time over it, enjoying the unfamiliar tastes and feeling incredibly decadent. Eggs and bacon were more her usual fare but she loved Italian food and ate it when she could get it.

She dined alone, technically but with Concetta serving her, she was far from it. Their darting glances from across the room and lingering looks at each other as Concetta came to her table seemed painfully obvious and exposing. Concetta almost imagined her family intercepting the atmosphere and hustling her out of the room in disgrace but they never did. She wished she could sit down and join her doctor but she kept herself in check. They talked cordially over the tiramisu and eventually the bill and Mac left without a kiss though the flash in her eyes promised the other woman that she would get one soon. A prospect that made Concetta shiver. She couldn't wait.


	14. Chapter 14

They started off their cooking lessons. To speed it up she had brought fresh pasta and was teaching Mac to balance the flavours in a tomato sauce. Baby steps. Soon they had the small saucepan bubbling away. It was a tiny galley and the ceiling hatch was unlocked to let the steam out. She wanted to spoil her student and brought a supply of lemons, olive oil, parmesan, fresh herbs and olives. She found out very quickly that Mac couldn't resist olives.

'Scottish roots. My family wouldn't have had much use for olives.' She popped one into her mouth. 'But once I tried them, I just couldn't do without them.'

Concetta let her delight show. She found the doctor's enthusiasm charming. Normally a person with spartan preferences, an indulgent side was revealed where food was concerned.

Their fingers touched as they wrestled for control of the wooden spoon. Concetta playfully smacked Mac's wrist with it and made her wait. She couldn't believe the doctor used a child's toy in the kitchen. She vowed to bring her a proper metal spoon with a wooden hold.

'I'll make a cook out of you yet' she promised. Mac's answering smile made her quite dizzy. She looked down to steady herself and saw the other hand creep closer to hers, folding it in her own where shivers zipped through her veins and into her heart. She was tensing up again so Mac changed the plan and brought her hand to her lips and kissed there instead. Concetta gasped, nerves being sparked by the touch and looked at her incomprehensibly. She was still naive to the gender bending habits of the underground. Never had she been on the receiving end of such gentlemanly charms but the gentleman in question was a woman. She couldn't understand it. She was learning such a lot.

Their precious starter sauce was burning and Concetta leapt into action, saving it from inedible destruction. They made a bowl each and sat down at the tiny table to revert to safe conversation. They couldn't stop talking and when they did, they sat in comfortable silence. It was never awkward.

Not yet. They would get to the difficult conversation later. For now, Mac was still trying to earn her lady love's trust. It was going to take a while. But she was patient when it came to matters of the heart. It had only been a month, each week bringing a new encounter.


	15. Chapter 15

Another meeting, another kiss. This time over a fight about how their relationship existed. How long could this go on? What could come of it? What were these feelings that Concetta wasn't accustomed to? Surely this wasn't normal, she argued. Mac got angry. Never the most patient of people, she wasn't going to stand for this opinion even from her best friend. Concetta had to make up her mind to stay or to go. How dare she say it wasn't natural? Loving women was the most natural state for Mac to be and if she didn't understand that, Concetta had no business associating with her. Raised voices, slamming down of coffee cups (Mac), pleading (Concetta) and reassurance from Mac that she wasn't going to reduce her to tears like her husband made a habit of doing.

'Do you have serious relationships like…other people?'

Mac could get angrier but knew this question came from a place of ignorance. The question was asked and she would answer. The least she could do was educate at least one person about it, especially one she cared for who so cruelly negated their affection this way.

'Of course we do. We're no different to any other people. Some people are committed to each other like a man and woman are and some are bounders. Just the same as everyone else are.'

Concetta stared into her cup.

'I thought I was like everyone else. I had no reason to think otherwise.'

'And now?' Mac inched closer.

'Now…I'm not so sure.' She turned her head and saw that pair of fierce blue eyes bore into her heart.

'I don't know what I am anymore.' She felt like crying. Was what she if she didn't fit into the normal world, the only one she knew existed? She certainly didn't feel like she fit into Mac's underground world. Mac caught her mood and trapped it like a butterfly in a net. Kept it at bay. She leaned forward and softly placed a kiss on her cheek. Concetta froze for a second and Mac thought she'd scared her. But instead, the other woman just moved a fraction and allowed those lips to connect to hers. Warmth stole over her as she matched the kiss and deepened it, surprising and delighting the doctor with the passion she had locked up inside for so long. Had she finally found her match?


	16. Chapter 16

'I have a task for you, should you accept it.'

Phryne looked up, intrigued. Mac didn't often set challenges for her, it was usually the other way around. Recently she hadn't seen her best friend much outside of work. Mac had been working hard for a few months now. She calculated in her head. Around five months she thought. She had been a little distant lately. She made an enquiring noise and cocked her head.

Mac looked up from her paper.

'I need you to source something for me' she asked casually.

'Oh yes? Something potentially unsuitable?' They both knew she meant illegal.

'Potentially unsuitable but not illegal, Phryne.'

'Oh.'

Mac outlined a basic premise and asked for clarification of a few matters. Phryne gleefully gave advice and assured her that she would find exactly the right thing. She had no idea who the mystery woman was but if Mac wanted to get her something so intimate, she had to be serious about her. This wasn't her usual kind of gift at all. Unusually restrained, Phryne lingered on a few details but couldn't help herself in the end.

'So, who is she? You're clearly not buying for yourself.'

Mac gave her a stern look.

'None of your business, Phryne. Put it on a tab. I'll pay in instalments.'

Phryne stretched, catlike on the sofa.

'It's a special gift?'

With a suspicious expression, Mac confirmed so. She'd given too much away to give the impression that it was for her.

'Leave it to me' purred Phryne. If this woman was special enough, she would require no payment from Mac, for her best friend in the world deserved someone that would make her happy.

'If she stays for longer than three months, the present will pay for itself' she teased.

Mac threw a cushion at her. She knew Phryne was generous enough to not ask for payment back but there was no telling how the lady in question would react. It was a big ask.


	17. Chapter 17

'A present? For me?'

Concetta could barely believe it. She hadn't received a tantalisingly wrapped up present in a long time. She had received only a big bunch of flowers for her birthday from her family, the first without her husband. Her in laws gave her nothing. A recent widow couldn't expect such extravagance. Her fingers shook as she held it and stared.

'Open it' her benefactor gently urged.

'But it's not my birthday' was the only thing she could say.

Her lover laughed and told her there was no need for an occasion.

Trying to control her trembling, she fumbled with the string and eventually managed to unwrap the present. There was something decadent in there. Something luxuriant, silky and completely unsuitable for a widow of her standing. And not black. Definitely not black.

A rich rose gold lace and silk confection peeked out from under her fingers. Something she had never thought to look at. Black was more her custom. Even so, she would have stolen a look at something like this in a shop but never would have thought about wearing it. This was in a colour she'd never thought of wearing before. Pulling it out of the wrapper slowly, she blushed as the lacy set was revealed; something tantalisingly seductive and not the kind of thing she would ever wear. By habit she checked the label. It was sumptuous quality, not the kind of thing she could afford. Not the kind of thing she reckoned Mac could afford either. She glanced tentatively up. There was a pleasure the other woman's eyes that Concetta recognised, the kind of pleasure that went with the significance of the gift.

This was no practical joke, this meant something real. Commitment. A panic rose in her and she struggled to breathe. She dropped the parcel to the floor and instinctively put her hands over her face. In a moment, those blue eyes were upon her along with the owner's arms as Mac held her close.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you.'

Concetta clung onto her in gratitude, closing her eyes and breathing very fast, wading through her fear. She hadn't realised she would feel this way.

'I cannot accept this.'

She hadn't expected a present and certainly not of this type. But this was a step too far. She looked at the package fearfully.

'It won't bite.'

'Not even for my husband could I wear that.'

Mac looked at the underwear. Phryne had done well. Burnished and indulgent, it lay on the floor as though discarded from Concetta's body. Something Mac eventually wanted to see. But getting the shy and modest lady into it would be a real problem. It was tasteful and pretty, but she had reacted as though the fine silk would burn her. Mac knew that it would shock her but was determined to break through that reserved wall. Concetta needed a shakeup. This was a good place to start.

'I understand that you would consider it to be extravagant in every sense. But you deserve it' she said gently and honestly. She had caught the other woman by the shoulders and was looking intensely at her. Gone was the twinkle in her eye, replaced by grave earnest.

Concetta shook her head.

'If someone found these garments, I'd be facing an interrogation.'

'But if your husband had given them to you?'

'That is different. That is private, in the marital bedroom. But as a widow…'

'As a single woman' interrupted Mac, her blue eyes aflame in the soft light.

Concetta shook her head wearily.

'That's not how it is. You cannot be free to do what you want, you must always be respectable. At least for women. They are harsh to judge if you step out of line.'

'It's been a year and a half.' Mac was incredulous.

'It is not decent to move on so soon. Can't you understand?' Pleaded her lover.

'They can't expect you to be a nun' she argued back.

'Yes. They can. Until I am married to another.'

'But you nearly were. How is that acceptable?'

'Because. My father would have authorised it.'

'So it's only decent when a man authorises it?' Mac's patience was wearing thin and her sarcasm couldn't contain itself. 'They tell you to jump up and go to straight to another mans bed because they need you to. Here's the invite to your own wedding now go and repurpose a dress from your new mother in law. You're a pawn in their game.'

Mac knew that she knew. The woman was trapped, her happiness dictated by whatever a man thought and wanted and she had no way of escaping without disgrace.

'You don't understand. I'm not brave like you!'

Mac didn't understand. Daring, bold Mac couldn't understand, she had divested herself of family and society values a long time ago and only toed the line when her career was in jeopardy. What would she know of family obligations? All of this went unspoken, but the doctor became aware of how expectant she had been, assuming that other women should be as forward as she. She did know about the restrictive culture Concetta had been brought up in and cursed her blinkered view. She had been so patient up until now, but it was moving too fast for the woman she had wished to see in the light. Concetta was sobbing now, head in twisting hands and Mac felt so keenly for her. She gathered up the present and promised to store it out of sight in case she wanted to come back to it. Concetta assented, trying not to look at them. If her husband could have failed in his demands that she wear something like this, Mac thought it would be even trickier to her to request it. Unlike him, though, she wasn't a bully. For now, she would let this go until the time when someone was brave and curious enough to look at it again. The next move was up to Concetta.


	18. Chapter 18

Mac was tired and didn't feel like arguing with her least favourite colleague today. Finally on the tail end of it, she looked up to see the object of her affection walk demurely into her office. For a moment their eyes connected and Mac thought she could detect a tremor passing between them. She told him she needed to finish up with her admin after her break and could it wait? He disagreeably assented. She greeted the respectable lady in front of him, they exchanged polite small talk and off they went so they could spend a little time together on her break. They were getting near the stairs when Concetta asked 'what room is that?'

Mac looked and saw one of the newer rooms, half prepared for secretarial work, wardrobe to store uniforms and a couple of chairs and tables. Nothing exciting. Concetta suggested it to be a good place to spend a short break. Fair enough. It was raining outside. She shrugged and led the way, the other woman making sure she firmly shut the door. Opening the doors to the big wardrobe, she peeked inside. There was nothing in there yet so she took a step in. Mac followed her quizzically, thinking that it might be a good place to chat. Maybe she should discover empty wardrobes more often. With a giggle, they closed the doors to almost darkness. The doctor couldn't see Concetta's side glance and wasn't prepared for the subsequent tackle. All of a sudden she felt herself being pushed against the wall and being set upon by a passionate Italian. Concetta had unleashed herself; her kisses were scorching and tender at the same time, her tongue blazed a trail down Mac's already sensitive neck and the doctor feared her legs would give way if she kept this up. She let the lady take over so she could meet her lips and melt under them while focusing on unbuttoning her blouse, intending to encounter rock hard nipples. She knew her way around a pair of those.

But Concetta had a trick up her sleeve. One she'd never tried before but she knew it was now or never. Breaking off the kiss, she lightly forced Mac's arm behind her back, twisting her round and gently pushing her against the wall. Pleasurably trapped, cheek scraping along the cool wood, Mac felt her arm being released and acquiesced to stay there, hands planted. She felt inquiring fingers unbutton a lot further down than she expected and squealed with surprise, most unlike her. Concetta inserted her hand inside the waistband, getting accustomed to her fingertips on skin once she had peeled back the layers. She was aiming for somewhere a lot warmer and damper. Her heart raced as she pressed Mac's body to the wall with her own and felt her relax. In the dark, Concetta could do things she couldn't imagine doing, things that she sometimes desperately wanted to. Once she had leaned against a wall and watched Gianni chat to her family and she imagined those clever fingers of his doing things to her she could never have thought of to ask when she was with her husband. She was surprised to find that she was breathing a lot heavier and her knickers had felt uncomfortably but pleasurably damp after that 10 seconds of fantasy. Nobody had noticed but she had felt ashamed and later on had scrubbed herself and her undergarments. She'd never done it since but this gnawing ache in her belly kept creeping up on her, getting stronger by the day and she didn't know what to do. The night before, she had tried something she'd never done. It had left her breathless and satisfied but with a longing for more. She was going to do it again but with someone else this time. She pressed a kiss on the neck in front of her, fingers seeking the rough curls. To her surprise it was not like her own, but softer and finer. She thought that every woman was the same. But she was learning new things a lot recently. Her paramour sighed in a manner that would normally make her blush. But it was something she was desperate to hear more of. Feeling the warmth she was drawn to, her thumb encountered the curious object that she had discovered last night. It was small but mighty. She circled it cautiously and felt a swoop in her chest as Mac gave quite the indication that what she was doing was working. She carried on and felt the folds grow slick as they both panted and pressed against each other. Tracing her hand back, she slipped a couple of fingers into the place that had up until now, eluded her. How had she not know there existed physical feelings that she had never known? She had no way of asking women in her community without them gossiping but Mac was a doctor. She would know. She thought to ask her but this was a good a time as any to find out.

For her part, Mac was trying to be quiet but it was hard when a hand that was more accustomed to kneading bread and pasta, was giving her so much pleasure. Her knees would have buckled if it wasn't for the warmth strength of the woman behind her who assuredly pleasured her. Mac knew she had never done this before but the speed at which she learned was a marvel. That husband of hers was a fool to have neglected her. Being held tightly by some dangerously attractive curves was one of Mac's weaknesses. The mistress of the fingers stilled her activities once she had thoughtfully ensured that her doctor was satisfied, clinging onto her and kissing her neck. She was still cautious of getting caught. With a sigh of content, Mac turned around and drew her in, catching hold of her lips and conducted herself in the most thorough and intense mouth to mouth investigations she'd ever given. Her partner leaned heavily against her and steadied herself by planting her hands on her hips and responding in kind. Concetta still wasn't used to this level of excitement; the electric thrill that coursed through her skin was so foreign to her, she almost thought she was dreaming it. She'd felt something like it with the chaste kisses of young suitors, at the beginning of her marriage and certainly a shiver of it flickered through her when she observed Gianni but while talking to him used to make her feel something, it had faded in time after that dreadful confession she had made to him. A passion like this, never. She had always felt so detached when coupling with her husband, she wanted more of this feeling but could never recapture that spark after that first exciting minute.

His habit was to take his pleasure on the rough side and she had been numb in her heart while he plunged her depths and crudely cursed in sexual fever. She had learned to faintly vocalise to keep up appearances and was horrified when once he clasped his strong fingers over her throat. She tried to scream as dread exploded in her chest while he carried on humping, apparently unaware of her distress. The next minute was a nightmare for her; scrabbling to breathe, being trapped in her terror and willing for darkness to take her so she wouldn't have to bear any more of it. Once he was spent with a grunt of satisfaction, he regarded her fingers clawed around his wrist in surprise, the marks that her nails had made on him. He tried to unclasp her and discovered her frozen to the bed in terror, tears spilling down her face. All of a sudden he became gentle, tender, wrapped his arms gently around her and soothed her while she sobbed with pain, anger and humiliation. She'd pushed him away and bolted, a sheet hastily wrapped around her as she fled to the bathroom and locked it. It took a brief time for his comforting to turn to roaring and battering on the door and a longer time still for that to cease. She let herself out at dusk. Her throat felt raw for a couple of days and she covered up her bruises with scarves, thankful for winter. She confided in no one although they noticed her listless manner and had jumped the gun in hoping she was finally pregnant this time. She felt sick at the idea that it should happen like this but nothing had. She felt the failure of being a wife very keenly as each year went by and she did not conceive. Her in-laws pointedly ignored her. He defended her against them all the while; regarding her sullenly for a week, then wordlessly continued as he left off, noticing how she shied away from him and as considerately as he could, placated her with kisses until she yielded to him as a good wife should. He never did it again. They never talked about it. She learned after his death that his mistresses had tolerated it and had played her part to his satisfaction. A cheap sort of woman who revelled in being the slut that he wanted, rather than his respectable wife who was too timid to enjoy such subversive exploits. Concetta had cried each day and was subjected to various treatments her family had bestowed on her to cure it.

A few months ago they had declared her to be free of the melancholy, a sign that felt appropriate to her father than she was attractive enough to use as a bargaining chip again. She had fooled them all and had learned to hide it away. Sometimes she struggled to the point of exhaustion in trying to make sure nobody noticed. She lay her head under the pillow and wept many nights, hoping nobody would hear her. She nearly slipped up once or twice when someone noticed her tears in the daytime, but she blamed the onions she was chopping.

She didn't have the courage to tell Mac all of this yet. She didn't dare to try.


	19. Chapter 19

They had stumbled out of the wardrobe and adjusted their appearances, giggling madly. Striding back into the corridor, no one could have noticed the difference in their manner for they were both consummate actors. Mac felt her professionalism wavering as she bid goodbye and strode off to the ward, risking a slight glance as she turned the corner. Concetta was graceful and composed once more but there was a spring in her step. Mac knew she was in danger of being distracted. She had to stay late that night and wouldn't have had the chance to meet after work. So Concetta had ensured she had visited her that day regardless. The woman was gaining courage and to show it in the way that she had was a revelation. Mac had a lot to look forward to if that was going to continue.

Sitting down to her admin that evening, she wasted more time contemplating when Concetta would reveal the extent of her loneliness and desperation. She hid it well but Mac was well versed in these things and there was no use hiding it from her. She'd seen it the second she'd laid eyes on her across the street.

That husband would feature heavily in this, she knew. She'd seen it too many times from when she was so young she barely understood it, husbands giving wives all the grief in the world that no amount of tolerating would forgive. She was better off without that world but she had to deal with it in others. Nothing was worse than being abused by the person who vowed to love and cherish you on your wedding day. Mac was not a sentimental woman but she was a vengeful one and the desire to sock husbands and boyfriends in the jaw had materialised very many times in her career. What she would give to hire a gang of toughs to sort these men out.

She didn't know much about the man Concetta was married to but she thought that if she had heard the full story, she would be glad that he had been murdered.

The woman in question was still elated over her daring encounter at the hospital. It was like another person had taken her over and she felt lighter than she had been since forever. This was what it felt like to be liberated. She wanted more. She was aware she was skating on thin ice and tried to hide it but with each meeting with her doctor, the more her heart soared. While before, it beat dully, now it sprang like a bird and she had to try and control her energy. She was in danger of being reckless and tried to not be so speedy to give service in the restaurant in case other people had noticed her exuberance. Normally a placid woman unless angered beyond the limit, she was fidgeting worse than ever and she was horrified to find that she was counting down the hours each day in which she could run away to see her lover. There were many days it wasn't possible for her to slip away and had to endure many evenings only thinking about her.

'Concetta, si stabilizza!' They would say but she found that she couldn't. She couldn't settle down and be a good girl anymore. She was running wild and soon they would try to rein her in but for once in her life, she had something of her own and she risked it. After the evening shift she did something so reckless she was shocked that she had gotten away with it.

She could trace the route by heart by now. Concetta knocked on the door and her heart soared when her lover opened it within seconds. She was waiting just as eagerly for her. She had a surprise for her. She didn't know if she was bold enough to go through with it but she had dared herself to try it. She ran down the stairs and tumbled into the waiting arms, barely making it to the sofa. For a few minutes there was only kissing, a melding of mouths and smudged lipstick. The coffee was ready on the side, forgotten in a lover's haste. When they withdrew; panting and giggling, Concetta found herself on top, almost straddling, quite the opposite of what she was used to. Both buttons on their person had been undone by one notch. How very sedate of them. Concetta felt as if she'd stripped a lot more than that.

'Coffee?' Suggested her bemused lover.

They poured lukewarm coffee and sipped, demurely arranged on the sofa. Mac marvelled at how comfortable Concetta was with the feelings they had for each other now. She'd seen a spark of triumph and confidence in her eyes each time they had become intimate. The tension in her shoulders was slowly dissolving, she had become less agitated and Mac knew for a fact that she hadn't picked up that knife since they had met. She had become more confident in her everyday life. Happier, she dared say.

Her thoughts froze as she remembered something. With the cup suspended halfway in the air and unconsciously doing her best impression of a cod fish, she'd seen something unusual earlier. Was that…colour she saw? Where on Concetta's person was she wearing that? She only wore those red beads and sometimes a touch more of red here and there. But she'd seen a flash of something else, something very different on her. Their meeting replayed in her mind and she looked down to where she'd seen it. It had looked familiar.

Concetta noticed her staring and took the cup from her hand. She found herself trembling with nerves, but she was determined to see it through. She rested her legs on the stool and drew up her skirt to show Mac what she was wearing. Just the right thigh, she wasn't ready to show the left one yet. There was a definite whisper of rose gold silk and lace.


	20. Chapter 20

Mac looked up and down the length of the shapely leg. She liked the look of it. She raised her eyes to the owner of the very fine legs and whistled. She had no words but was willing to show her appreciation in nonverbal communication. Concetta blushed but kept her gaze. Putting her hand out to touch where fabric met skin, Mac softly trailed her fingers over it and leaned in for a kiss. At that point, Concetta surrendered. She had taken the next step and had used up all her courage for the time being. She let Mac lead the way, leaning her back to rest among the cushions, drawing her knees up and stroking her skirt further up until she could take in the full view. Oh and what a view, Mac thought. There was a tease of dark curl that had broken free of the silk and lace bond and was calling to her. She used just the tip of her finger to stroke it and heard the other woman gasp so loud it was almost as if she had come. There was plenty of time for that and it boded well for how the night was going to go. Mac loved a lover with sensitive skin. It was that much more delicious to make love to.

Running her practised hands up the back of her legs and making the other woman mewl at the assured but gentle touch lit a fire in her she hadn't felt in a long time. She unbuttoned the skirt and slipped it off. Everything slow and calm as though not to scare the once reluctant wearer of the fine underwear. In all these weeks they had been getting to know each other, they had drowned in kisses, more than they could ever have imagined having had in their lifetime. They had slid their hands under shirts and blindly teased nipples. Every time it seemed like they were getting closer an inch at a time. Mac longed to go further, to show her inexperienced lover what a tongue and fingers could do in the right places. Instead, Concetta had sprung such a surprise on her at the hospital that she could hardly believe it was the same person. Had she been doing a little solo exploration herself? She'd find out soon and this time it wouldn't be in the dark.

She stopped as she slid her fingers over a soft thigh and noticed something. Concetta knew what it was and raised herself up from her relaxed bed of cushions nervously. She hadn't touched it since the day she'd met Mac. Hadn't wanted to start the path to hell again. She had avoided looking at it for weeks, not even looking at it when she had made the decision to wear the most gorgeous present she'd ever received, one that she'd once dashed to the ground. No amount of finery could make this mutilation look less than ugly. It was lightly scarred, raised lines overlocking the skin. It was hideous. She'd forgotten about while she had made her way there.

Mac was sad to see it. It was a constant reminder of the depression and grief the other woman had been through. Still was. Each slash of the skin made it clearer than words how the wielder of the knife had felt each time they did it. Concetta felt ashamed of it and started stuttering out an apology but Mac stalled her with another kiss. Right on the scarred patch. It tingled. She expected it to hurt but it didn't. A cold stream of relief washed over her as she realised that it didn't matter. She'd built it up in her head but it had come to nothing. The other woman didn't care. She wanted her anyway.

Mac continued where she left off, relaxing Concetta back down and building up the heated fluttering in her belly to a crescendo. She felt the sudden slick motion of her impending arousal between her legs and realised it might stain the beautiful knickers.

'Don't worry. It exists to be worn' said Mac, reading her mind. She could see the darkening of the fabric right where she wanted it and had plans to take it off once she had established that her paramour was wearing the brassiere that came with it. She leaned over and slowly unbuttoned the rest of the sensible blouse to reveal that yes, there was something completely unsuitable and a little bit see-through underneath. She had bet that the nipples in question were a deep rose brown and she was right. Mac was never wrong about the colour of a woman's nipples, she could tell just by observing the subject's colouring. This was not a skill that would be considered scientifically exact or favourable on her curriculum vitae, so she wisely kept it quiet and played the game occasionally. She passed her thumb over one and the object of her lust shivered. She was in for a treat. Mac winked at her and started sliding off a strap.

'Trust me, I'm a doctor' she said.


	21. Chapter 21

Concetta would never trust another doctor quite like this one. She had the magic touch. Deft fingers slowly laid her bare and a skilful tongue on the most intimate parts of her body were applied to full effect. Her shoulders and neck were gently kissed making her almost faint at the rush of heat that seemed to radiate between them. Further down to her breasts where a tender tongue and mouth needed very little pressure to elicit moans from her. The voltage button on her senses was turned up so high she feared just the slightest touch would render her close to unconscious. No one had ever touched that area that lay just above those private curls, with a tongue no less while hands roamed stroking her waist and hips. She tried to take mental notes for she intended on reciprocating later. But for now, it was all about her and she'd bask in this for as long as she could. Chances like this didn't come around often.

Slipping practiced fingers within the soaking wet folds of her depths, her clever doctor gently stroked, then increased the pace as needed until the sounds Concetta had never knew she was capable of making reached to such a height she could barely breathe. She was hardly aware of her hips rocking with the moment, muscles reaching and clasping towards those wonderful fingers. A thumb nudged and coaxed that sweet spot enough to zing a volt through her belly and up her spine, reaching her nipples. Very soon that clever tongue followed the fingers and applied itself to her most private space and Concetta felt herself falling down the rabbit hole of oblivion. She could feel herself shaking uncontrollably while intense hot pressure built up to a climax, eventually shattering her into pieces. She fell back; limp and panting, not caring how respectable it made her anymore, the desire was too much to resist. There was nothing in the world to compare to this and now she understood what people saw in this. What women could do with each other.

Mac, kneeling in-between her legs, stroked her face tenderly. That was one of the most enjoyable sessions with one of the most beautiful women she'd ever had. The blushing widow had broken her fast and was lying beneath her, radiant with a triumphant fatigue. Perhaps she'd spoiled her, corrupted her, for once she had a taste of real desire and passion, she would want more.

Mac didn't feel guilty. If anyone deserved it, it was this woman.


	22. Chapter 22

'Do men do this with women?' She asked.

'Of course they do, but far less often. Men are selfish. Men don't expect they will do it much because women don't know they can ask for it. If men demand that from them, women should be able to demand the same thing back.'

Concetta knew. She'd learned by trial and error what her husband wanted and while it shocked her that she was expected to put his cock in her mouth to pump and suck until he was spent while he sometimes choked her with a hand on her head, she did it. She hadn't enjoyed it but had barely complained. No one could say that she had not been a dutiful wife. If he had been more loving to her, she might have enjoyed it more and had given it freely and not under resigned sufferance. Never did he offer to give her the same back, nor did she know it was an action that even existed. His frigid wife didn't deserve this pleasure. Not from him. But now she was getting it from someone else and was free of his selfishness. Being the good girl had brought her nothing but hollow yearning and resentment and she wanted more. She rolled over and snuggled into the alabaster body, the one with rose pink nipples. A fresh and sweet colour. Not qualities you would have associated with the doctor but she was full of surprises. Sliding a hand in-between the other pair of legs, she started her own project of exploration, determined to top the time in the wardrobe. Mac would later say that she wasn't sure which was better but she enjoyed herself immensely.


	23. Chapter 23

She'd forgotten her beads. Those red beads that was the only colour she wore. Mac idly threaded it through her fingers, thought she could smell a trace of perfume. She would carry them with her and return them when she saw her. Concetta had never told her why she wore them. She hoped it wasn't anything to do with that husband.

When Concetta saw her doctor next, she was skulking around a corner, the same place she had first been observed from. Swinging the string of beads from one finger and accompanying it with a rare coquettish smile that not many people had ever seen. Concetta felt her heart drop. How could she forget her necklace? And how distracting that smile was. She felt so muddled she didn't know what to say. She hurried over and tried to grab them back inconspicuously. Mac inaudibly informed her that she'd found it down the back of the sofa and Concetta's look of shock made her smile. She slid the beads through her fingers and held on tight at the last second. Concetta tried to tug it out of her hand and lost the fight with her reserve as they both burst out laughing over a pointless tug of war. Concetta knew what she wanted but didn't dare give it to her in public. She leaned forward and deliberately kissed her on both cheeks as a compromise.

'Thank you!' She exclaimed, making it seem casual.

Mac's look was contrite, she knew she'd been asking too much of her.

'Watch out for those church ladies, they might steal your knickers next' she joked and Concetta squealed with horror and lowered her voice.

'Elisabetta please!'

Mac relented and let go of the beads, placing them around Concetta's neck. She blushed in response. She didn't turn around but Mac could see why. Mentioning church was a good alibi, especially when a gorgon of an aunt was standing at the door suspiciously. One that could rival Prudence Stanley. She called out to Concetta in a strident tone and motioned to the door. Concetta turned back and said thank you again like a good child and walked back to the restaurant. She waited until the aunt had retreated and foot hovering over the last step, turned and smiled with the promise that Mac would get a proper thank you later. But they both knew they were running the risk, so Mac didn't linger however much she wanted to. She had a feeling Concetta was in for an interrogation.


	24. Chapter 24

'You stayed out late the other night' her interrogator started. Zia Francesca was a formidable woman with eagle eyes and if anyone would notice, it would be her. Concetta knew she was in for a grilling and summoned up all her strength to lie her stockings off. She had in fact stayed out all night at the houseboat, had coffee in the early morning and came back in very early and changed, come back down to start with the deliveries and preparation.

'I needed some time to myself. I went to the church to have some peace.' Normally that would be a dangerous lie for there were always women at the church, cleaning and organising. But she knew there were places to hide and observe without being noticed too much.

'I hope you've been keeping up with your rosary' she continued. Concetta nodded and tried to forgive herself for the lie. She hadn't prayed the rosary for some time. She did it occasionally out of habit, not having been an entirely devout user of it in the first place once she had grown up. But she had to keep up appearances, particularly if her husband had wanted relations and had always respectfully waited until a while after she had finished. She kept it unsystematic in case he worked out that she was doing it intentionally. She steeled herself for his advances and on days when she felt like she really couldn't deal with it, took out the rosary. He usually left her alone those evenings. Now she had nothing to fear from him and hadn't touched the rosary. She was careful to dust it regularly should anyone come snooping.

'I noticed you weren't wearing your necklace recently.'

Her niece had her game face on, ready and set. She'd been perfecting it for years. She turned around and told her that she'd lost it before and it always came back to her in the end. It was a metaphor for faith that Francesca understood. She had been the most sympathetic to her niece over the years but she was a graduate from the school of tough love and suspicion came naturally to her. She had been instrumental in piling the workload onto Concetta to ease her grief and had been the least patronising when donating her widow's wardrobe. She'd thrown in a few mauve pieces as well and made sure whatever she had given her was at least in good condition and well fitting. Concetta was not yet at the stage where she could wear the purple garments but she appreciated it very much. It was her aunt's way of telling her that one day the grief would ease and she could maybe marry again. If not, at least there would come a time where it would be respectable to be happy. Zia Francesca could be unforgiving but if you had her on your side, you could count on some muscle. Concetta had worked very hard to make sure that she was on her right side. She sensed she was sailing very close to the wind with this one though. She could sense the suspicion from those rhino eyes. After being questioned on who the mysterious lady was, she was apparently satisfied with the assurance that she was a doctor and did good works. A professional and a servant of the everyday woman, against her instinct, zia Francesca grudgingly approved. She harrumphed about knowing that doctor might be involved with the possibility of being involved with the evils of abortion. But she let it rest as Concetta assured her that she saved lives and patched up the damage done to the everyday woman. She didn't mention the morgue, that was a step too far. Women meddling with corpses that were far beyond the usual washing for the burial that was expected of them could just blow zia's rhino mind. Having been assured that Doctor MacMillan was a respectable woman, Francesca then commenced her day. She hadn't seen what had gone on between them but there had been a devious hum of duplicity in the air recently and she was sure she could pinpoint it to her niece. She had been up and down in emotion the last few months. There was a flicker of vague rebellion in her eyes. No longer listening politely to everything, a glimmer of impatience every so often, mind wandering off at times and even an occasional lazy smile. Concetta had always been a diligent and dutiful worker but her manner bordered on insolent recently, answering back far more often in that non-confrontational way of hers. She was hiding something. Zia Francesca knew of the surest reason a woman would act like this. Any more of his behaviour and she would do some sleuthing herself. There was a man involved and she was sure he was an unsuitable one.

The proof came earlier than she had expected. It had been a few weeks since that incident and Francesca had mounted the stairs to Concetta's room to ask her for something. She wasn't there. But a movement caught her eye and hidden between the nets and the curtain was something that stiffened her guard straight away. She knew for a fact that her niece wore sensible underwear as befitted a respectable woman. Some of the youngest nephews had raided the women's drawers for underwear they would put on their heads and run around the house playing silly games. They had been soundly scolded for it by the women and indulged by the men for boys would be boys. Never too young to be chasing the ladies, they chuckled. Concetta's plain black intimates were shown to be respectable. So what were these luxurious bits and pieces? They weren't black and they weren't plainly cut. They were decadent and made for a courtesan. She struggled to come up with any scenario that her staid niece would wear these. Would she wear them for a man if he'd bought them for her? That seemed unlikely but she had been acting strange these past months.

Footsteps echoed behind her and she almost didn't realise until her niece was almost upon her. Concetta stopped dead at the realisation of discovery. Zia Francesca turned around with the beautiful underwear clutched in her fist.

'Is there something you want to tell me?'


	25. Chapter 25

'You cannot see him.' Zia Francesca was keeping her voice down. Concetta realised that she was trying to diffuse the situation without involving the others. Working through problems was done within the family and it cost Francesca a lot to consult with no one. But even more than that, no matter how disapproving, she was trying to spare Concetta the humiliation of confessing to serious sin that could land her in disgrace.

Concetta wrestled with the truth. She couldn't tell her who her secret lover really was but she couldn't just invent a married man either.

'Is he married?'

'No.' This at least was the truth. Francesca reddened and swelled up like a bullfrog. If her niece was lying to her…

'I give you my word! Not married.'

'He's not Italian.' This was not a question. A shake of the head confirmed it.

'Did he buy you this kind of thing?'

'Just this.'

'Do you wear it for him?' She brandished the handful of lace and satin aggressively. Concetta realised that zia Francesca was very angry. So far she'd kept it in check but she wasn't going to for much longer. She thought, if she was going to tell her something, she might tell her part of the truth.

'I wear it for myself.'

Zia Francesca nearly exploded with the effort of not showing her anger the usual way. Underwear like this was a gift from a man to a woman for his pleasure. She'd be damned if her niece was going to start acting like a whore. She could utter every threat under the sun but Concetta would find a way of carrying on, regardless of forbiddance. That was human nature. She had to make sure no one else found out.

'If I see this again, I will rip it to shreds' she warned her. 'Get rid of it.'

Her niece stared at her with eyes of flint and said nothing. Before, she would have nodded and done it straight away. But her mulish behaviour awoke a thread of mistrust in Francesca's heart. For the first time ever, her niece could not be trusted to behave as she was told. An obstinate streak was making itself shown and this couldn't be tolerated. She tossed the garments on the floor and left. Concetta gathered them up and put them in her bag. She would keep them at the houseboat from now on. She didn't know how long she could keep this up now that zia Francesca had the power to expose them. The only safety was down to her careful phrasing. Nobody knew that it wasn't in fact, a man.


	26. Chapter 26

'Zia Francesca knows.'

'What does she know?'

It had taken a lot out of Concetta to wait out the next few days until she could next see her lover. She was like a coiled spring, pacing around and fidgeting. Mentally she was exhausted with the effort of keeping a secret that could go off like a bomb. How much time did they have before her world would come crashing down on her? For the first time in a long while she was tempted to slash at herself with the sharpest knife she could find. To watch the beads of blood drip and that sudden flash of pain envelope her until she pressed a cloth to it and keened at the humiliation she felt by her actions.

Mac stepped in front of her as she automatically looked towards the kitchen.

'Don't you dare. Don't you dare!'

Concetta was shocked. Mac had never spoken to her like that. She was so angry her face had gone red and the look in her eyes made Concetta draw back in fright. She couldn't take more anger directed at her again. She was not one of life's confronters and tried to hide away when she saw a fight coming. Whenever anyone in the family started a ruckus, she was usually to be found in the kitchen or outside, wanting to distance herself from it all. The houseboat was small enough for the racket of an argument to reverberate in her head and she couldn't face it.

Mac gripped her arm with surprising strength. The atmosphere chilled and Concetta felt dizzy as if Mac was going to hit her. It had happened only once but she was terrified of the thought of it happening again.

'I never want you to pick up a knife for that again' she warned her. 'If it means supervising you in my home, I will do it. I can't trust you unless you stop looking for one when you panic and need to claw back control. Not on my watch.'

How did Mac know what went on inside her head? She implored her to let go of her arm and sat down in her favourite chair. She was starting to find this familiar. She had a favourite chair, mug and jam. Once Mac knew what jam she liked, it was always ready for her when she visited. That wonderful dawn when they'd woken up together was made up of warm snuggly duvet, coffee and gooseberry jam on brioche. It was the best dawn she'd ever seen. She wanted every morning to be like this. But she could see it slipping away under the wrath of zia Francesca. She started to justify why she did it, what made her feel this way and how it made her feel. Stumbling over her words, she didn't look up but played with those string of beads. Mac irrationally wanted to rip them off and throw them away but reasoned with herself. Maybe she needed them like a rosary. Mac had no patience for religion, not for a long time. A lapsed member of the Scottish Presbyterian church, she grudgingly attended funerals to show solidarity, especially if she had helped conclude the manner of death. She sat down and listened. It wasn't anything she hadn't heard before. In principle it didn't shock her but she wanted more for the woman she'd fallen in love with. She took her hand and waited. Soon she knew everything. The threat of being discovered had loosened Concetta's tongue and there was a danger she'd tell her aunt everything after that. Mac knew there was nothing she wanted more than to share her houseboat with her but there seemed no way of achieving that without Concetta being disgraced. Then what would she do? She had been groomed to be a useful ornament and nothing else. And to sever from her family? That was a harsh lot in life.

Concetta told her what she had told Jack. She would have left her family behind at a breath from him. She declared the same to Mac. She would never know what it would be like to be his lover and could only wonder at how it would have turned out for them if she had. He was her only chance of escaping and when she'd lost it, she could see no other way and had resigned herself to this dreary life. She could have lost herself in another city but she couldn't leave Mac behind.

Mac lifted her chin with a finger and looked at her with affectionate eyes.

'I would do a lot for you.'

It wasn't as unromantic as it sounded. Of course she'd want a lover who would do anything for her but there were practicalities to be observed, Mac couldn't just get up and leave the job she'd worked so hard to get.

'I know.'

'I don't know what we're going to do but we're going to make it. I'll do everything that I can to make it happen' she promised. Concetta was too grateful to speak.


	27. Chapter 27

Phryne was a useful person to have around when you needed the answer to a solution. The fluttering of an idea beat a steady persuasive tattoo in her head and she thought it might just work. To be sure, she stopped off at Wardlaw and confirmed that the plan could go ahead. Phryne desisted from asking questions. Mac knew how to type. It was hardly brain surgery. She guessed that one of the new recruits was the special someone.

And she was. Concetta didn't hesitate consenting to the solution once she knew how respectable it looked. Learning to type would lead to getting a job outside of the restaurant and lead to living elsewhere. Slowly but surely, the plan took place. Zia Francesca was impressed when she typed up all the accounts, prototype menus and paperwork for the restaurant. But she wasn't so impressed when she had a suspicion Concetta was doing all of this to meet the mystery man a lot more.

'Did you resolve the situation?' She enquired.

Concetta kept her eyes on the potatoes as she peeled.

'The garments have been destroyed' she answered in an even tone. Francesca took it to mean that she had decided not to wreck her morals with that man, whoever he was and sent him away. Satisfied with that answer, she exited triumphantly, not knowing that her niece had got the upper hand for once.

Concetta smiled at the pile of potatoes she was attacking, imagining they were her late husband. She could see a light on the horizon at last.


	28. Chapter 28

At the hospital, she said. So it was. But when she walked through the doors to the place that Mac had in mind for her, it was not at the section of the hospital she thought she would be at. At the morgue, there was a lot of information to be typed up.

'You're not afraid, are you? Asked Mac, concerned that her new recruit was going to bolt. Concetta said nothing. It was an honour to prepare the dead for burial while they waited for the afterlife. But examining them and taking them to pieces, destroying their God given form? She trembled at the thought. Mac gently touched the back of her hand with a finger.

'The dead don't talk. They can't move. They won't harm you.'

The other woman nodded. She knew that. But coming so close to working with death was a bit of a shock to her system. She agreed to start the work at least so she could see there was nothing to fear. She tapped at the typewriter, getting more confident as the hours ticked by and the light lengthened. Mac had requested a weekday admin assistant and the powers that be allowed her that convenience, at a low wage. At the end of the first day, Mac was pleased with her new assistant and her work. Even more pleased when she could corner her privately for an off the job kiss, a thrill that hadn't dulled in lustre over the months. This continual adoration was new to Concetta, the want and need to enjoy someone and be enjoyed with. That secret shiny dart of happiness shot through her heart when she thought of it. But she needed to focus and make sure her family didn't suspect the real reason she'd taken the job.

They hadn't taken the news well. They didn't want her to leave the restaurant, fearing that she'd soon drift away from them and into a new life where cocktails, short hair and fast men were on the prowl.

'It's not as if I'm leaving! I just want to take this opportunity' she argued. 'I will still be here for church on Sunday and to keep up with the accounts every week.'

The elders wrung their hands in despair. Their biddable Concetta had shown her stubborn side and nothing anyone could say would get her to change her mind.

'What is so wrong for you to stay with your family? We are the best people for you to associate with' lamented an aunt.

'You'll become too worldly' lectured an uncle. But she wouldn't yield to their pleading.

'I am a grown woman. Let me experience something else in my life.'

'We will find you another husband' they declared decisively.

She shook her head angrily. 'I don't want another husband! I want something for myself. Who knows if I will get married again?'

'But you must! You still have time mia cara ragazza. Maybe one day you will have a child.'

Concetta shook her off with frustration. 'That is for me to decide. The tide is turning. Soon the younger generations will be able to decide for themselves what they want to do in life. If I'm still considered young enough then I should be able to do that too.'

There were mutterings of dismay. She spoke of revolution and overthrowing the traditional way of things. They couldn't understand where she had learned this kind of talk.

'I'm not a child, please don't speak to me like I am. I have enquired about this job and I have got it. I'm sure everything will work out fine.'

Zia Francesca followed her and took hold of her arm in a tight grip.

'You'd better know what you are doing. If that man has anything to do with this…'

Concetta stared at her in the face and told her clearly.

'There is no man involved in this decision. That I can promise you.'

Francesca looked hard into her niece's eyes. She was always a sincere person but having had reason to doubt her recently, it was a difficult call to make. She did not seem to be lying. Francesca released her and nodded her assent. There did indeed seem to be no man involved.


	29. Chapter 29

They worked in companionable silence for the most part. Much of the time they worked alone and there were some days where they could barely see each other, Mac having duties on the wards. But having one another close by was enough to sustain them through the day. The doctor finished later so if she was at the morgue, Concetta could usually slip into her office and engage in some exploration of her own. Once they nearly got caught with their hands down each other's shirts but it was always a bit of a thrill to learn how to adjust clothing and manner at lightening speed. This meant that they were interrupted and had to leave without saying a proper goodbye but it was better than nothing. Whenever there was 'a work celebration,' she came back home very late. The Strano family weren't to know that this involved a certain houseboat with a certain doctor. After a few more months they moved onto the next stage of their plan, precipitated by the unexpected concern of an aunt.

'Concetta, it isn't safe for you to be out so late at night' complained one of the aunts. 'Sometimes we're all asleep when you come back and then you get up early and start work all over again. We barely get to see you during the week. The customers miss their hostess' she hinted.

'I'm perfectly happy in my job, please don't ask again.'

Zia Chiara sighed, she was failing in her duty to get the stray sheep back to the flock. Concetta took her hands and spoke to her gently.

'Aren't I always there for birthdays and celebrations and church? I wouldn't miss that. This is how people who don't work for their family company live. I enjoy it. It suits me. I get to see so much more during my day. I get to speak to people I've never met before. It's opened a whole new world for me but it doesn't mean I forget about this world.'

Chiara couldn't imagine that anyone in their family would want to live outside of the Italian world. She had no idea how trapped her niece had felt and wouldn't have understood it.

'But you will marry an Italian man?'

Concetta sighed. This constant battle to marry her off was grating on her nerves. She had no intention of marrying ever again but she had to make it seem like fate.

'I have no plans to marry again for a while. Only God knows how it will go.'

Her aunt nodded. Her niece was a good girl. She left it at that.

Zia Francesca was not so convinced.


	30. Chapter 30

'I feel like I'm in convent school' she complained to Mac over lunch break. The doctor smirked at the unfortunate situation.

'Where the good girls go. But you're not a good girl anymore, are you?' She ran her hand up Concetta's leg and rested it on the knee. The former good girl responded by catching that hand and drawing it further up to distract the doctor from the pile of work that awaited her.

Zia Chiara's concerns had paved the way to what they wanted to achieve all along. But it required some deception that needed to be kept at bay at all times. They had to trust that nobody would turn up at the hospital asking to see Concetta outside of working hours. They had to take that risk.

She brought it up soon. She was getting impatient. She was desperate for another opportunity to wake up at the houseboat in the morning, snuggle and drink coffee with her lover. She hated braving the dark to get back into her barren bed, body still thrumming from the heat and desire and from being rudely interrupted so she could go home and not arouse suspicion. She tried to engineer the new waitress to take her room. After her husband had died, she had been demoted to a single room above the restaurant instead of the nice marital flat she had lived in. Her family had looked after her by drawing her tightly into their clutches, no one could say that the Strano's ever neglected their kin. She just wished it wasn't so suffocating.

She offered her room up, steeling herself for the uproar that invariably followed.

'And where would you stay?' Roared another aunt.

'It's not respectable for you to live on your own' counselled another uncle.

'There are always rooms available for the staff at the hospital. A whole block just for us' she argued. 'Dozens of female colleagues live there and there is guaranteed security. It's entirely respectable.'

'And what of your family? Are you to cut us out of your life entirely?'

'I will be here every Sunday at least. There's no way I will cut my family from my life unless you force me to' she levelled her gaze at zia Francesca who glared back. An uneasy silence reigned. Was that a challenge? She urged them to give it some thought and turned the subject to the new waitress at hand. She needed some serious training.


	31. Chapter 31

She knocked on the door and at the signal to come in, she did. The scene that met her eyes looked innocent enough. There was that friend of hers standing by the desk. A well piled up desk with lots of work on it to do, she was satisfied with that. Her niece was sitting in front of the typewriter the way she said she was. Zia Francesca could see nothing untoward.

Concetta knew her surprise showed. She didn't know why her aunt was there but she could bet it wasn't for a good reason. She rose and greeted her accordingly with a warning glare at Mac. Mac stayed neutral until the attention was aimed at her. She smiled, held out her hand and introduced herself with her full name, making sure that zia Francesca could decide that she was in fact a woman. Francesca's gaze lingered disapprovingly over the masculine tailoring but acquiesced that the doctor's face was indeed, most definitely feminine. A good strong grip too, she noted. Mac offered her a seat and she sat down daintily, looking around her in interest. When they had told her that her niece was working in the morgue, she was shocked. But the house of death seemed quite civilized, the admin contained in this cosy office.

'So you did not tell us where exactly you were working.'

'Well I started off in the main hospital and then they transferred me to here. I didn't think it was a polite subject for the dinner table' her niece cunningly replied. She knew it wasn't a subject for the dinner table.

Francesca nodded. 'Well it looks like you are doing well here.' There was a tone of regret that she had gone elsewhere to find her peace. But Francesca was glad to see her lift herself out of her melancholy at last. She had suffered quite a demonic spell over the months following her husband's death and it had been like pulling teeth to get some life back into her. She quizzed her on her earnings, making sure nothing was spent frivolously. Half of what she earned should be given back to the family, she argued. Concetta could feel her temper rising.

'I earn very little, zia.'

She calculated on a piece of paper the entirety of her salary and what she could afford.

'No matter' insisted Francesca, 'you should never forget your family. When did you become so selfish?'

'Do I earn the same amount as the others? Can I give the same amount at the church? No! I didn't even earn any of my own money working for the family. Every time I needed a new dress, someone gave me the money to pay for it. I need my own money. If I give half to the family and a quarter to the church, how can I live on my own?'

'But that is what family is for! Why would you want to live on your own? Maybe you do need a husband, you are getting too solitary in your ideas.'

'I don't need a husband!'

Mac intervened with a soft explanatory tone that she used for all her patients at some point in their treatment.

'With all due respect, Concetta is very efficient at her job. She types and organises faster than anyone and has cleared the backlog at record speed. She has applied for a room here and is certain to get it. It doesn't mean she will leave the family. But it's normal for professional women to strike out on their own in elements of their lives.'

She turned to Concetta.

'If you don't like it here, then let us know and you can go back to live with your family. But I really think it'll be the making of you.'

Concetta nodded politely, keeping up the pretence. She took Francesca's hands and reassured her that she was very happy working in this place and that she would never leave the family to be frivolous in clubs.

'I don't want this job to change you.'

'It won't. I'm the most like myself these days.'

'You were never like this before' her aunt said concernedly.

'May I have a word with you?' Mac interrupted gently. With a nod from the aunt, she steered her into the corridor. Concetta crept closer, listening in. Mac was playing this well, appealing to the elder woman somewhat deferentially. Speaking in a low gentle voice, Mac outlined her theory of the situation to try to get the aunt on her side.

'If I may point out, from personal experience, I find that whenever someone seems to have developed into what seems like another character, it just means that that it was in them in the first place and they never knew it. I am aware of Concetta's husband's death and she has detailed to me the way she has felt since then and she has made such progress in having the confidence in getting this job. She was just never able to be in a situation where she can prove to everyone how resilient she is. Including herself. Everyone benefits from having an outlet that is just for them. She seems good at compartmentalising if the drawers and cupboards are anything to go by in that office. She is perfectly capable of juggling her work duties and her family duties. She may be around less often but her family will always be important to her. I think you might agree with me on that.'

Zia Francesca did and couldn't argue too much with that. She requested that the esteemed doctor keep an eye on her niece, see that she wouldn't come to any trouble. She must be kept a respectable woman. Mac solemnly promised. Placated at last, Francesca took her leave, not knowing how she had cemented the plan in place.


	32. Chapter 32

'How did you do it?' Concetta asked in wonder. Trust the doctor indeed.

'Years of experience' replied Mac, sitting on the desk looking happy and smug.

Concetta threw her arms around her and hugged her. This woman had saved her from a dreary existence and she owed her such a lot. They threw caution to the wind and clasped each other tight with soft sweet kisses all over as if daring to test if it were real. They didn't take a lunch break that day. They could skip it once in a while if it meant spending quality time hip to hip, heart to heart, entwined around each other on the table. Nobody disturbed them that day.


	33. Chapter 33

'So will you tell me who she is?' Phryne was dying to know. Mac had always been secretive but her continued silence on something that she had referenced herself was beginning to irk the lady detective.

Mac sipped on one of Mr Butler's excellent cocktails and gently continued to refuse to throw her a bone. One day she'd know. Best to introduce the idea slowly to give everyone time to adjust. A heart attack was not what she wanted to give either Jack or Phryne for Christmas. She wanted to be alone with her Italian sparrow, the only one in her private life that could get away with calling her by her given name. She couldn't resist that charming accent or those handsome eyes. She would do a lot to protect her happiness.

On the other side of town, zia Francesca chopped tomatoes and consoled herself that her niece was starting a new chapter in life and it was all for the best. She was a good girl, she'd be back every Sunday. Hearing the woman in question come in, she turned around and nodded her acknowledgement. Taking up another knife and chopping board, Concetta started chopping the mushrooms and they worked together in companionable silence.

She wasn't going to stay in hospital accommodation of course. That was just a ruse. Mac had a spare side of the bed reserved for her. A comfy springy bed they could do whatever in, whenever they wanted. A drawer where her sensible black undergarments could mix with Mac's equally sensible grey undergarments. Space for that pretty pair she no longer had to hide. Her own cup and saucer. Licence to decorate with her own favoured possessions, creating a Mediterranean paradise. And someone she could keep a home for that she would never fall out of love with. Someone who would take her to out of the way spots where no-one could find them. Someone who always let her know she was loved.

It was a small price to pay to conceal their happiness in public. One pretending to an Italian family that this side of her life didn't exist and one not knowing when to reveal it to her best friend but nobody said it was easy. When the wind howled and the rain poured, they curled up around each other in the cosy warm houseboat and blocked the rest of the world out.

This didn't deter the lady detective. She found out in the end, by strolling by the beach on her lonesome on a summer's day and recognising two very unlikely bedfellows. They didn't see her. They were too busy making sandcastles and throwing sand at each other.

Phryne raised her eyebrows in disbelief at who she now realised was her best friend's companion, but she had to admire the nerve of the woman. She'd done a lot of daring things for an Italian widow. Proposed to Jack for one, said a very daring yes to a relationship that would have got her disgraced and disowned, for another. It was obvious her family didn't know and Phryne was going to make sure nobody would tell them. She watched them laugh and play, occasionally catching each other to steal a concealed kiss.

She didn't know what Jack would say to all of this but he could stay oblivious for a long time. One day they would officially know. The lady detective discreetly observed them for a further half an hour. There was some eyelash batting from Concetta, broad smiles from Mac and a tangible glow between them that burst from their caressing fingers and sparked joy and contentment. A most unlikely pairing but then the world was made up of all sorts, wasn't it?


End file.
